


Just One More Time

by Musyc



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Draco Malfoy - character, Hogwarts, Infidelity, M/M, Neville Longbottom - character, Post-War, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-26
Updated: 2009-11-26
Packaged: 2017-10-03 19:22:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Musyc/pseuds/Musyc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neville remembers what it could be like to have Draco paying him some attention, and he wants it, just once more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just One More Time

Part - a very large part - of why he'd always been flustered and nervous around Draco Malfoy was the voice. That low, drawling voice that was all he needed to hear to know that he was inferior, ineffective, and ... well, impotent didn't apply, really. Not around Malfoy. It had been true when he was just a student and it was still true as a professor. He was almost elbow deep in a large pot, hands wrapped around the root ball of a rare flowering plant, and he heard the door of the greenhouse swing open. The low, drawling voice was the next thing he heard, and his fingers stiffened in the dirt.

"Hullo, Longbottom." There was a long pause, several seconds too long, then came a quiet, sniggering laugh. "Pardon me. _Professor_."

Neville felt his fingers tightening in the dirt and his cock tightening in his trousers. There. There it was, that horrible, sick sense, the combined fear and arousal that made him want to come and run. He took a deep breath and relaxed his fingers to pull them from the container, and then that voice was directly behind him.

"Don't move."

He'd forgotten how fast, how silently Malfoy could move when he wanted to, when he had a purpose, stalking the corridors of Hogwarts with those grey eyes shining more than the polished badge pinned to his robes. Forgotten the length of the fingers that reached around him, slid down his arm, and clasped his wrist. Forgotten the heat of breath on his ear as Malfoy leaned in and rested that sharp chin on his shoulder.

"That's a Dwarf Canary, Longbottom. Very rare, very delicate. Don't want to crush the roots or you'll stunt its growth. Possibly not a concern, since it's already a dwarf, but then again?" Malfoy squeezed his wrist, wrapping those long fingers tightly around his arm until he imagined that he could feel the bones rubbing together. "Then again, you wouldn't want to damage a plant the very week you gave my son a failing mark for a few yellow leaves, would you? Think of the example you're setting for the students."

Neville ground his teeth against the grip on his wrist and against Malfoy's breath stirring the tips of his hair. Malfoy released the hold and drew those long fingers up his forearm to pluck at his rolled-up sleeve and press around his bicep. "So tell me, Professor Longbottom." Malfoy's other hand came up and slapped onto the table. One foot prodded between Neville's heels, then Malfoy was pressed against him, body weight and body heat effectively pinning him in place. "How's your wife?"

Neville swallowed, staring at the container in front of him, at the pale hand and the silver ring glinting beside him. "She's...." He swallowed again, shaking his head to remind himself that he was a grown man, he was a professor, he was married, and Malfoy should not have this effect on him any more. Should never have had this effect on him, but had _always_ had it. Time after time, he'd heard that voice, saw the line of that jaw, the point of that chin, and lost his nerve, his self in it. It wasn't a wonder to him why he'd failed miserably at so many potions classes when he'd been watching Malfoy's easy movements and smiling confidence. "She's not part of, she doesn't know...."

Malfoy turned his head, just an inch, just barely an inch, and his lips brushed across the shell of Neville's ear. Neville sucked in a breath and shuddered, his cock twitching. "She doesn't know _what_, Professor? What are you implying? I came here to discuss my son's marks and what he can do to improve them." Every drawn-out vowel and puff of heat made a pulse of blood rush to Neville's groin. "Isn't that what I came for?"

"No." Neville surprised himself with the strength of the word, and he glanced out of the corner of his eye, his head turning enough to move his ear away from Malfoy's mouth. It put those thin lips too close to his cheek, but at least he could think without the sense-memory of ragged, panting breaths. "Maybe that w-was your excuse, Malfoy. But it w-wasn't your reason."

Malfoy blinked once, slowly, so slowly Neville could see pale lashes rest against a pale cheek and he could remember how unfair he'd always thought it, how unfair it was that someone with such an ugly heart had such beautiful eyes. "You're right." Lips moved against his cheek and Neville shuddered again. "It was just an excuse. Scorpius should concentrate on his work and accept his own consequences. Can't fix the world for him, right?" Malfoy's hand slid under his bicep and over his chest, palm pressed to his sternum, manicured nails scraping on the canvas apron he wore to keep the dirt off his robes. "No. Did come here to get a fix, though."

"Malfoy." Neville closed his eyes and cursed the quaver in his voice, the small lilt that turned Malfoy's name from a name to a question. Neville knew it was only a moment's wait, only a matter of time before that question became a request became a plea. It always did. Malfoy took what he wanted and did what he liked and no matter how Neville tried or hoped or prayed, he knew that he'd beg. He knew that the only words Malfoy would hear would be _yes_ and _more_ and "Please, Malfoy."

Fingers slid down his chest, dragged over his ribs, probed under his apron, and wriggled between the table and his body, and Neville pressed his hips back, away from that seeking hand. Shifting his weight away from the table and Malfoy's hand shifted him right into Malfoy's body, and even two sets of thick robes couldn't hide the thick cock against his backside. Neville's fingers stiffened in the dirt, tensed around the roots of the plant as Malfoy's fingers fluttered under his robes. Malfoy licked him with a slow, damp trace around the shell of his ear and tensed fingers around the root of his cock.

"Longbottom." Malfoy rocked against his arse, breathed hard and fast against his ear. "Do say it." Neville bowed his head and shivered, watching Malfoy's free hand slide off the table and out of sight. The next step he knew by heart - the rustle of robes shifted aside and pulled up, the press of a cock against his bare buttocks, the soft and quavering exhale that was the closest Malfoy ever came to a moan. "Longbottom, say it."

Neville's shoulder curled and he stared at the shifting bulge under his apron, the only visible sign of Malfoy's hand moving, of fingers trailing through his hair and down his length and into the small bead of fluid at the head of his cock. Malfoy needed to hear it, Neville remembered, needed him to say it. Of all the crimes Malfoy had been accused or guilty of, he'd never failed to gain consent. Not once. Neville had tested him before, refused him before, and Malfoy had gone away without a word. Gone away and left him full and aching and franticly wanking in an alcove. Gone away and stayed away until Neville hunted him down and _begged_. He took a breath, then another and another, then canted his hips to push his cock into Malfoy's waiting, open palm. "Malfoy."

Malfoy sank teeth into his ear and tugged, pulled at his lobe, pulled at his cock, and hissed. "_Say_ it."

He held his breath. He closed his eyes. "Malfoy." He licked his lips and he spread his feet, widened his stance for balance and pressed back into Malfoy's body. "Draco." He pressed back, thrust forward. Malfoy's cock against his arse, his cock in Malfoy's hand. "_Please_."

Malfoy laughed and bit the side of his neck, then set up a rhythm of thrusts and pulls, a rhythm Neville aided with a shift of his hips and a bend of his waist that aligned Malfoy's cock to the cleft of his arse and dragged that soft, breathy exhale from Malfoy's throat. He knew the game, knew the rules, knew he couldn't come until Malfoy did, and he desperately wanted to come. Wanted to feel orgasm rip through him and spill onto those long fingers one more time.

Just one more. That was all, just this once, just one more time. Neville leaned forward, braced his arms on the rim of the container, and pushed back against Malfoy's thrusts. The more he moved, the louder he begged, the faster Malfoy would come. He moved.

_Yes_.

_More_.

He begged.

_Please_.

Malfoy came. Clenched the back of his robes, panted into his ear, thrust hard and fast, then froze, stiffened, and gave a stuttered gasp. Neville felt heat spread across the small of his back, thick blobs of come sliding down his arse to spatter onto the dirt floor. He muttered a curse under his breath - more, please, yes, fuck, more - as Malfoy wiped his cock with Neville's robes, then cursed out loud and groaning when Malfoy released him and stepped away. Left him to stand hard and throbbing with his robes falling to swing against his ankles. "Draco, _please_."

Malfoy laughed and patted his shoulder, and that low, drawling voice nearly filled the greenhouse with smug satisfaction. "Exams are in a month, I believe. Let's see how Scorpius does. I may need to return for a ... conference. Yes." Malfoy slid one hand down his arm, trailed his fingers over the rim of the container and across the dirt, and bent the delicate stem of the Canary plant until it snapped clean in half. "Say hello to your wife."

Neville drew his hands out of the dirt as Malfoy's laugh faded and the greenhouse door swung shut. He scuffed dirt over the dark, drying stains on the floor and rubbed his forehead, smudging sweat into his hairline. He looked over his shoulder, scanned the greenhouse, then jerked up his apron and wrapped his hand around his cock. Scorpius hated Herbology. Malfoy would be back.

Neville came with a groan and a buckle of his knees that dropped him to the floor, leaning on the table and panting for breath. Malfoy would be back. _Please_.


End file.
